


Rational Lives

by moroder



Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: Gen, Humanized AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-02-14 11:11:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13006560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moroder/pseuds/moroder
Summary: Alexander Olden, a silent programmer with vitiligo all over his body, meets an impulsive chemistry and biology scientist who almost momentarily ruins Olden's life routine. Working in buildings next to each other, they build up a tight relationship, unaware of the astonishing events ahead.A different approach to humanized SCP AUs and 079+682 relationship. Built up mostly on headcanons.





	1. I - V

I

Sometimes people don’t need any alarm clocks to wake up at certain time. Some believe these people to be trained, or fiddle with their biological clock, or do whatever is in their right mind.

Olden was just upset by the alarm ringtone.

Moreover, it’s way better to open your eyes lazily and have a look around your narrow unattractive room instead of jumping up like crazy to shut the alarm before it thrusts into your mind. Then you spend a good minute observing the ceiling; and maybe then you get up.

The life of a man named Alexander Olden was not much different from any modern office workers’ lives. Morning, coffee, work, coffee, work, coffee, home. A tragic lack of bright spots. Olden didn’t need them as much though: he was okay with his regular routine.

He was okay with his chatterbox colleagues who he always passed by at the security checkpoint. The security officers have long ago stopped double-checking his card data, as he pressed it against the validating device. Everyone knew him, and no one _did_.

Better being said, everyone knew his face but no one knew his soul.

He has never been someone special in X-Tech – one of the largest software making companies in the world. The thing responsible for Olden’s recognition was an old disease of his, the one which troubled him from the very childhood and which he desperately tried to get rid of. He stopped doing that at the age of twenty five. Vitiligo, as he’s constantly been told, is not deadly dangerous, but it can cause a lot of drama; especially when you’re a kid from a troublesome family enduring countless bullying from your classmates.

Alexander almost always hid himself in a shadow. He sat quietly in his own corner, making small useful stuff for himself. Time helped him understand that kids lose interest in their victim as long as the troubled one does not respond. At the end of school and his finals, Olden was absolutely sure which direction he should take.

The one which makes him useful but also gets him completely off everyone’s sight.

As if it was a fortune, X-Tech had a rather fitting place for him. A place in the office where no one could get by accident – only on purpose. His working desk was cut off the main office, making him skip even the loudest conversations.

Olden didn’t often have to go out to meet people – only once a day during the lunch break. At first his co-workers observed him in surprise, whispering things and pointing their fingers at him; these first weeks proved to be a bit hard for him, making him wish he was dead. It kinda reminded him of school days. Soon enough, though, they got used to their unusual colleague – there was nothing unique in him besides the dark spots on his pale skin. A normal person.

Three years of working got Olden’s personal life nowhere. He just didn’t need any friends. His co-workers chuckled that the most secluded person in X-Tech didn’t need people to communicate with. There was a certain amount of truth in that. Olden liked computers a lot more; if they behaved in an odd way, he could always disassemble the needed program and look for the problem core. The solution was always there.

A machine is easier to understand than a human.

A machine will not reproach you for an illness you never asked about.

A machine is predictable.

 

II

Daily routine happened to be another reason for Alexander Olden to choose an office. The most unpredictable thing to happen would be a sudden change of deadlines.

Olden liked predictability.

A routine thoroughly learned. Coffee-work-lunch-work-coffee. Having lunch on the first of twenty-seven floors, in a cafeteria so big it was being visited by workers of the neighborhood companies. Olden didn’t know much about them as he has only seen the buildings directly outside his window. He wasn’t keen on window watching.

One of these buildings contained some sort of a research center. Olden wasn’t keen on this area either; his area of thought rarely went past programming. What he knew for sure about this research center was that its researchers visited the X-Tech cafeteria as well. Nothing could tell where they come from though, they looked like usual people. However, as they were beginning to discuss something highly biological next to Olden, he could tell for sure who they were. Perhaps they weren’t discussing biology at all; maybe it was chemistry. All the same for him.

One thing he liked about researchers was the adherence to their own routine. They never left the cafeteria later than half past one p.m. – absolutely everyone. Then again, the chatting was switching to software and hardware.

One single man caused Olden a little concern. The man who was only arriving to the cafeteria at one p.m.

Each time Alexander saw him in, this man was wearing a white lab coat. Olden was sure that lab coats were to be worn at labs precisely to make things a little more sterile, and it made him even more surprised. The man didn’t talk much, but when he did, he was triggering a weird reaction from his colleagues: they tried to escape as soon as they could. Olden felt funny about this, but deep inside he was kind of happy that this man hasn’t tried talking to him. Who knows how things would’ve turned.

The man in a lab coat was taller than Alexander Olden, exceeding his height by at least one and a half heads. Sometimes the programmer noticed him to have almost invisible freckles on a tanned face. He even wiped his glasses a couple of times to make sure he’s seeing the right thing. There was also his always shaggy chestnut hair combined in a ponytail a bit below his shoulder line. Prim and scrawny, he made quite a contrast to Olden himself with his short fleshy figure, round glasses on his nose and an almost black haystack of hair on his head.

This person seemed to have started visiting the cafeteria even before Olden. He began noticing him as soon as he stopped paying attention to his co-workers. Olden has even got a passive habit of checking whether the man in a lab coat has appeared or not. Though he meant absolutely nothing in Alexander’s life, his presence was making the programmer somewhat calm.

He clearly didn’t have his own daily routine, but he has insensibly rooted himself into Olden’s one.

 

III

“Was it done with chemicals?”

This question made Alexander Olden freeze. Partly because of being unexpected, partly because he got deafened. According to his perception, the voice source located itself above his head and the speaking one seemed to bend himself down. Olden turned around carefully and sprang back.

That very man. The lab coat, freckles on a tanned face, hazel-green eyes eating him alive.

“Done... what?” he asked carefully. The man in a lab coat waved his hand and made a circular gesture above the right half of Olden’s face, almost touching it.

“This! Chemicals or anything? Looks awesome.”

The programmer frowned and pulled a bit away.

“No, it’s an illness. And it’s not awesome at all.” As he said this, the lab coat man roared with laugh, and Olden clenched his fists. “Not fun as well!”

“Hahaaaha-he-heh... heh. Sorry there, man.” He tapped his shoulder, then moved on to see a tie and yanked it, nodding towards a silver tie pin shaped as letter X. “So you work here, huh? X-Tech?..”

“Yes, I do. Please don’t do that again”, Alexander answered in an angry tone and pulled away from the “scientist”. He shrugged.

“Come on, don’t be a touch-me-not. Do you ever just come down here to eat? You’re avoiding people like a mimosa.”

“Mimosa?”

“A typical houseplant, you know. Mimosa pudica. Hides its leaves upon being touched.”

“I’m human and not a plant”, Olden grumbled, turning away.

He suddenly felt really angry that he couldn’t just teleport back to his working desk. He was quite okay with the lab coat man just appearing in his sight without any personal contacts. Why on Earth has this person even paid attention to him?

When he’d been touched by a shoulder once again, Olden was ready to dart off.

“I’m Smith. Hope you’re not a Wesson.”

The programmer turned around, surprised. The man shifted his hand towards him; green sweater sleeves were rolled up above elbows along with crumpled sleeves of a lab coat. Half-hearted, Alexander outstretched a hand in response.

“Olden.”

“Haa, almost got it. Rhyme’d all good, darn it!” He laughed again, making his new friend shrink. “I meant to say nice to meet you.”

Smith shook a pale dark-spotted hand, holding his gaze on it.

“That’s funny. You’ve got vitiligo, right?”

“Yes.”

“Are ya all like this? Half other color, I mean.” Olden squinted.

“What do you need this for?”

“Matter of interest. Okay, I got it, that’s too personal, I guess.”

He finally let go of the hand. Alexander wanted to feel relieved, but he couldn’t.

“You ain’t late for your desk? Your lunch must be over.”

“No... I actually wanted to ask you about this.”

“Ha!” Smith waved a hand. “I don’t have any schedule. I work whenever I want to work.”

He didn’t pay attention to Olden’s grimace, or he simply decided not to. His cellphone rang at that moment, and he stepped aside, answering the call. The programmer used this small pause to quickly vanish into air.

He was unable to say goodbye.

 

IV

During the first week of getting to know the loud scientist from the building across the road, Alexander Olden found out some new and useless facts. Smith talked a lot, especially about his job. Olden couldn’t say so about himself.

“Do you enjoy your job?”

The programmer was met with this question at the end of the working day, along with Smith whom he’d met at the security checkpoint. This has once again violated the usual schedule, although Smith was always tampering with his daily routine somehow. At first Olden let the question slip. He turned right towards the subway station, and his friend followed.

“I’m asking you, do you like your job?” Smith continued. So it had to be answered.

“It’s... okay for me”, Olden stuttered, gathering words. “Can’t wish for a different job.”

“What, really? Tell me what you’re doing there.”

“But I’ve been...”

“You told me what’s required from you to do. Programs, I get it. Now what I mean is what you think about it. Why this very job.”

“Oh, come on...” Olden exhaled, hoping his companion didn’t hear that. “I like writing programs. I work where I like to work.”

“So you’re fine with sitting all day long on your butt and pressing buttons?” Smith asked, mistrustful.

“To each his own.”

They fell silent for a while after that. Questions about his career choice always drove Alexander Older to the edge. Explaining how tired he got of people during his childhood and how his work is pure heaven was exhausting. And not exactly pleasant.

They’ve passed by the validation in the subway, when Smith started to talk again.

“Actually, I mean – do you enjoy living your job. I don’t mind people wasting their entire lives on it, but if it’s against their preferences... What’s the point of living and not enjoying it?”

“You’re subjective”, Olden mumbled, shoving the subway card into his bag. “My job organizes me, and that’s enough.”

“Aah, I see. Routine for the win, eh?”

Smith said these words in such an insolent tone that Olden couldn’t help but feel something cold piercing him. His face askew, he turned to his companion and poked him in the chest with an index finger, making him recoil a bit.

“I’m. Fine. With. It. If your life consists of other parts that you enjoy – I’m very happy it does, but that is your life. Leave me alone!”

The subway train muffled his last sentence. Smith answered nothing as he watched his acquaintance enter the train, as it closed its doors and whirled away into darkness.

Finding himself in a subway car, Olden turned away from the doors; but even so he felt Smith seeing him off and burning him through with a set of catlike hazel eyes.

Deep inside he hoped for Smith to let this conversation slip.

 

V

He turned out to be right. The whole next week, talking to him, Smith would only mention his own job, and not Olden’s. He could almost feel following his friend into the laboratories – that’s how vivid Smith’s stories were.

According to him, he worked in “some lab with a long scientific name that doesn’t matter anymore”. He was one of the lead researchers and had up to twenty assistants under his wing, but he could not remember any single name of them upon asking. His lab was almost the size of X–Tech big offices; believing Smith, two thirds of that place was taken over by reagents and their derivatives.

Perhaps experimenting was the hottest topic for him. He could be talking about chemical compounds, experiment technology, etc., etc. until he asked Olden whether he understood anything. Alexander was honestly trying to, but mostly failed.

Sometimes he agreed on something Smith told and added tiny details about him, Olden. He described the noisy hive of female voices, a certain part of which reproached him for disliking flowers and not giving them to anyone. Of course, those who worked for a considerably longer time knew about Olden’s allergy – that was another reason for him to work remotely in his own small office where no one brought any blooming flowers. Some tried to build a relationship with him; some even flirted to no avail. Those of his colleagues who knew him could tell for sure: Olden was absolutely indifferent towards women. Gossips about his personal life occurred rarely – only to fade away after a short amount of time. There was nothing new on this topic: Olden is still not in any relationship with a man or a woman. Nothing changes.

“So your black and white heart ain’t occupied?”

The question startled him. Olden didn’t have a habit of looking at his companion while talking, so these words made him tear his gaze away from the table and look up at Smith. He looked at the shorter man, squinting.

“Black and white heart?”

“Oh, come on, it’s just a metaphor. Answer it.”

“Well... yes. I don’t need any relationships.”

“Is that included in your schedule?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing supernatural. A woman requires a lot of unscheduled time losses in your life. Ever had a girlfriend?”

“...I didn’t need one, if it’s about that.” Deep inside Olden couldn’t understand what he disliked so much about the topic: women themselves or the fact he had absolutely no knowledge about them. “I was studying and always busy. I didn’t want a relationship.”

“You’re a goddamn lousy subject for gossips, my friend!” Smith laughed. Alexander threw him a challenging look.

“What about you? How’s your personal life?”

“Woah, hey, hold your horses, boy!” his companion exclaimed, never losing his smile. “Too much too fast.”

He grinned, but Olden didn’t twitch an eyebrow.

“I’m married.”

Smith closed his eyes with a defeated expression on his face and spread his hands, but as he glanced at his friend again, Olden was looking back and not blinking. “Why are you so surprised?”

“Mar... ried?”

“Yep, well. Tragic incidents happen!” He threw a look to the side. Alexander felt awkward.

“But... why...”

“Why ain’t she here? No idea where she is. And I don’t wanna have an idea of that.” Seeing astonishment in Olden’s gaze, he shrugged. “What? Did you think that marriage is such a romantic and loving time of life?”

Alexander looked around the room to find a topic to skip to, but it failed. Smith accepted that as a positive answer.

“No. You really have to go through this with someone. Man, woman, no matter. You’ll understand. Until then, sadly, it's no use discussing this with you. Sorry if it hurt you or something.”

They talked about other things, but Olden couldn’t help but think about that relationship discussion for the rest of that day. Thoughts about finding a partner in love returned to him for the first time since he’s been nineteen and suffering from spermotoxicosis. People told him to find a girl; later it all faded away.

Olden had no idea if he was able to rebuild his routine to make a place for someone else in it.

Then again, he had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the basics of this story have been eating me alive for a long time already  
> lots of drawings made and plot twits discussed
> 
> it'll be updated for sure but only when i'll have some spare time from university


	2. VI - VII

VI

They say the time always comes to see the other side of a golden coin. Alexander Olden did that with a surprise for himself.

It began when he was once almost asleep at midnight and Smith phoned him and described something highly biological and ingenious in an unsteady voice. Olden didn’t recognize a single word but played along, agreeing on the topic. The call ended abruptly, and he didn’t give it enough attention, just like the events of previous days.

As time went past him, a dreadful feeling that something’s changed was following him. Something was wrong, out of familiar routine. Then it hit him. Plain and simple.

Smith was absent.

With his always unscheduled arrival, the tanned shaggy scientist cut into the programmer’s daily regime. Now, as he’s suddenly disappeared and Olden returned to the old schedule, it surprised him. It surprised and even hurt him.

Unwilling to do so, he thought over every single reason for his friend to disappear. Sometimes he caught himself doing this and cursed quietly, comforting himself with the thought that Smith was an adult man and could do whatever he wanted. Not only adult but volatile as well. He could right jump off the bat without telling anyone. Even him, Alexander Olden.

Who was he, Olden? Why would he matter for Smith anyhow?

He knew the answer, but the words _“no reason”_ scratched his soul, and he kept himself from saying that even sotto voce.

Six days were enough for Olden to almost get used to home-work-home faceless routine. Then a change came.

Smith phoned him and invited him to his working place.

It astonished Olden to a point. His friend started the talk in a completely formal tone: he spoke about his intentions, received a positive answer and disconnected. During those two months they’ve known each other Smith has never suggested a trip to his laboratory. Something paper thin told the programmer that the suggestion was connected to his six days long vanishing.

Honestly he didn’t even know if he was afraid to venture straight into the scientist’s lair.

Smith was waiting for him across the street in front of the labs. His typical look: shaggy chestnut hair, combed in a ponytail; a swamp-colored sweater with sleeves rolled up to elbows; several blue stains on his labcoat. The first thing Olden noticed was a dull gaze looking through him. Seeing his friend, Smith nodded invitingly at the building behind him.

He resided at the lab on the ninth floor. The elevator was moving incredibly slow – at least Olden thought so. Smith worsened the situation by keeping absolute silence. Alexander didn’t know how to start a conversation, didn’t know if he should bring up the topic of Smith being quiet for almost a week... He repeatedly wanted the ground to swallow him up.

The man in a labcoat walked in his usual pace, hands shoved in pockets. Olden, being shorter, could hardly keep it up. The floor reminded him of the offices in his own building – the ones with lots of glass and lack of light. It was about nine p.m. and the labs were completely empty. Perhaps Smith was counting on it.

It wasn’t a long journey. If Smith hasn’t lied, his working place did in fact take up whole ninth floor, although he was looking for one special place. Sometimes Olden had to step over the boxes filled with glasses, liquid and non-liquid chemicals – even a turned-over chair. The surroundings have seemingly suffered from a small tornado.

Smith’s sort of parlor was presented with a huge metal table littered with the same glass flasks and beakers; chemicals-caused stains covered the matte metal surface, and a fresh puddle was smoking in a corner of it – must’ve been an acid of some sort. Smith approached the table and pushed the flasks aside with a sweep of hand, clearing some space for himself. A glass bottle fell down with a thud; on falling, it rolled across the non-tiled floor and hit Olden’s shoe. He picked up the bottle and examined the label. Whiskey?

“Sit down”, the scientist shot him a look. “Come one, don’t be shy.”

Alexander stretched out the hand holding the bottle. Smith’s face didn’t change.

“What?”

“Do you drink?” the man asked with a surprise.

“Do I drink? Who doesn’t nowadays?”

Olden frowned, silent.

“Oh, it’s _you_? Come on. Isn’t it obvious that I’m taking stuff?”

The programmer shrugged and lowered the bottle. Smith smirked.

“Well then. I didn’t bring you here to investigate my garbage holdings. Come here.”

He waved a hand and turned towards the table; his hands were carelessly grabbing the beakers and putting them to light, as if he was looking for something. Alexander slowly approached him. His eyes widened as he saw at least ten more bottles standing under the table. They were all empty but one which was the closest to Smith.

“Roger!” the programmer yelped, throwing his hands in the air. Smith flinched, and the beaker fell down from his hands; fortunately the floor wasn’t tiled and breaking glass against it wasn’t easy.

“What is it?” Catching Olden’s gaze, he followed it and saw the bottles. “Jeez, I didn’t manage to clean up the mess from the previous day. Ain’t very wise to invite quests over to your place while having a mess—“

“The. Previous. Day?”

Now it was Alexander’s turn to drop objects made of glass.

“Y-you... you drank all this in a single day?”

“If I say yes, will that change anything?” Smith inquired lazily. “Okay, okay, not a single day. But twelve bottles for six days was... _something_.”

Seeing the horror on Olden’s face not fading, the scientist sighed and bent over the table, leaning on it.

“Alex. I invited you here to meet what I’m really doing. I was talking about that a lot, but you didn’t understand much. Don’t say you did, it was obvious.”

His gaze slid across the cabinet with some alcoholized creatures; he ran his fingers through the containers and found the required one. In yellow muddy liquid floated something reptilian, resembling a small lizard.

“Lately I’ve been trying to synthesize a cure for any sickness. Some mixture to drink and become fully healed or invincible. Immortal. Dunno. No such luck yet.”

He fetched the unfinished bottle from under the table, opened it, examined its contents critically, and then finished it in a single gulp. Olden opened his mouth but was immediately stopped with a wave of hand.

“Quiet. That’s what I never mentioned. It wasn’t that important. I am thirty four. My head isn’t working all by itself. When I want something ingenious in my head, I drink like hell. At some point I fall through. Disappears the Roger Smith, appears the experimenting smartass bastard. Till I’m sober again, he’s working. He’s able to do just anything. This time, something useful came out.”

Smith nodded at the table. Olden expected to see bottles of other sorts of alcohol but instead he saw blueprints in a mess, and bold blue letters claimed them to be “ **COOL AF** ”.

“Cool af?” the programmer squinted.

“It’s a cure for hangover. Under a ton of formulas, there’s this mixture.” He pointed at the beaker that stood a bit aside from others. Brownish transparent liquid resided there, and sometimes bubbles came up and burst at its surface. Olden winced.

“Does one need to drink this?”

“Yeppers. You won’t believe what I’ve got this out from. A lizard!” Roger Smith tapped on the flask containing the reptile. “On drinking this crap, it felt like scales started growing out of my body. But that’s nothing, I’ll work out a better taste.”

He laughed and began muttering a song. Alexander silently glared at his back; the whiskey bottle, once dropped, still rested against his shoe.

 

VII

The threat of being obsessed with Smith to the point of losing common sense didn’t approach Alexander fast enough. The first one to talk about this was some twenty-five years old accountant. She spoke about issues at work, about productivity. Olden wasn’t paying much attention and noticed at some point that this woman would be way more productive at her working place. He didn’t speak up about that though.

It was hard to say anything in particular about Smith. He still happened to go missing for a few days and then return triumphantly, demanding “women and booze”. People in X-tech watched him skeptically but more laxly than needed. Olden watched him in a prodigal son way. The son was not kneeling in shame; on the contrary - Alexander would kneel to affect his friend’s lifestyle.

On the other side, he found it hard to call Roger a friend.

Olden’s thoughts were being flooded with talks about his personal life and Smith’s wife who was so luckily forgotten and not mentioned anymore. She still existed somewhere, didn’t she? Still officially married to him. Would she appear sometime to demand anything legally from her husband?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man this chapter had been written like a ton of time ago  
> when will i update in a normal fashion...


	3. VIII - XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to Old Friends by Darren Korb at part XI. I dare you

VIII

She showed up.

Loud, dashing, very combative and _very redhead._

She began with a loud slamming of a lab door. Two people sitting at the table behind a wall of test-tubes looked up; the one holding a flask put it aside and moved his protection glasses up on his forehead. Then he received a direct hit into the face from _her_.

“Roger Alias Smith!” she exclaimed, full of righteous anger. Smith’s mouth broke into a large smile, and he covered his reddened cheek with a palm.

“Hi, darling.”

The second man still sitting at the table suddenly thought that this woman required no bright makeup or clothing – it would all be outmatched by her unnaturally red hair. Nothing else could outshine that.

“I’m gonna shove that ‘darling’ up your ass. I’ll tear you apart, you unholy creature!”

She kept cussing, upgrading her swears to a more obscene level. And Roger Smith watched her with a blissful expression on his face, like a child who’d just seen a chocolate egg in a grocery store.

“My wife is so sweet. I was going to introduce you to her someday.”

He nodded at the man at the table as he spoke. That one was still wearing both glasses and gloves and looked like a terrified ruffled crow.

“Introduce whom? Are you at it again?” the woman kept yelling. “Fooling people with your ingenious discoveries? How many have you poisoned to this day?”

“Hey, I am only poisoning _myself!”_ , Smith resented.

Olden got rid of his protection glasses and watched the scene from his point of view. He silently remembered what exactly his friend told him about his significant other. The spouses continued their heated talk but he didn’t seem to notice. Only as the room fell quiet, he suspected something and looked up. They both eyed him.

“I said, are you okay with being my acquaintance, Alexander?”

“Me?..”, he shrugged. “I don’t know. Yes. Guess I am. Why the quest—“

“See, it’s all good”, Smith continued calmly, turning to his wife. She still looked incredibly redhead but calmed down noticeably; at least she didn’t want to strangle Roger anymore. She was watching Olden silently, just like any person who'd seen him for the first time.

“Okay, I didn’t come to talk about this”, she finally said after she stopped eating him alive with her gaze. “Is our agreement still valid?”

“Ah, _yes._ Why else would you come here”, Smith muttered, walked towards his reagent shelf and fetched a small bottle out of it. “It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got.”

She moved up her hand to retrieve the bottle, but Roger yanked his hand away and smirked; although he gave the thing away in the very next second. Missis Smith looked through it, inspected it a bit and put it into her bag.

“Thanks, Roger. Good to know that you’re still benevolent to your wife”, she looked down for a moment and then, lacking a better target, switched to Alexander. Smith shrugged and nodded towards the exit. He saw his other half off with a steady gaze, sighed quietly and turned back to his companion.

 _“Love is in the air”_ , he purred dreamily. Olden looked at him with confusion. “What, what is it?”

“I’ve got... some questions”, he answered unsteadily. Roger laughed lightly, just like a kid.

“Let me guess. Why did she hit me, what did I give her and why are we married at all?”

“Generally... yes, you’re right.”

“Well, the first and third question are easy to answer: love’s blind. The second one’s harder.”

“Is it drugs?”

_“Wha?”_

Smith laughed again, but is wasn’t as sincere and heartily as before, rather awkward. “No. She’s one of the scientific kind too, following all rules and lacking the needed stuff sometimes. Then she remembers that she has an ingenious husband colleague that she can always hit up. _That_ she does well.”

He spread his hands, and the smile didn’t leave his face upon the whole scene. Olden was a little nervous about it.

“Aren’t you feeling... a bit...”

“Used by her? Maybe, just a little. Well, think about it, Alex: it’s a person I wanted to make happy some time ago. I’m glad that despite all crap that happened between us I can still be useful to her. In any way.”

Then he returned to their table, sat down, put his protection glasses back on and took the flask with some liquid still foaming inside. As if nothing happened for him. But Alexander Olden couldn’t get back, couldn’t rewind his state one hour back when they were still doing chemistry in peace. For him, the situation with Roger’s wife was absolutely, completely unfair, and he couldn’t understand how his friend could be so calm about her using a spouse title for her own good.

“...and then... Alex?” Smith looked at him through his glasses, sighed and put the flask down. “Why do you look at me like this?”

A string of thought formed in Olden’s head. Roger Smith helped his... yet _not former_ wife because he likes being useful for her; but one can be useful to anyone, even colleagues. Family, maybe friends? Didn’t Smith have other people to raise his self-esteem?

All these thoughts poured out into a single question:

“Why don’t you replace helping your wife with helping your friends? The amount of profit is... fairly larger this way.”

It sounded uncomfortable, and Alexander instantly regretted asking. Smith eyes him for a while, and it was hard to tell by his gaze whether this question made him embarrassed or stunned... or evoked any emotion at all. Finally, he turned away and simply said:

“I have no friends.”

The words fell down to Olden’s soul like a spoon onto a metal saucepan. No... friends? But what did their late night talks amount to? Their spending of spare time... better said, Olden’s spare time? Their discussing of everything at once? Did they... amount to _anything at all?_

“Oh... I see.” Alexander took off the glasses and gloves as calmly as Roger, then put them at the table and stood up. “I have to finish my project, I... I better go.”

He exited the table, not looking at his... friend? and waiting for any sort of reaction. But Smith looked like he didn’t notice anything; he was writing something down in an excited manner.

“Close the door as you go”, he added, papers rustling under his fingers.

So Olden did.

 

IX

It often happens that people in state of great displeasure or anger can’t think of anything else but their emotions and become completely useless in their field because of that. Alexander Olden clearly belonged to a different part of society. In a state of offense, he kept working with an even better performance, trying to dispose of the reason for his offense. He mostly failed to do so, though.

So easy, just four words to cut the cord between them. _I have no friends._ To think about it, Olden also had none before. Children at school were too dumb to see him as anything else but someone to abuse for being different from everyone; at the university, students barely communicated with Alexander who was always silent and head over heels with studying; people and his colleagues were restrained and only smiled upon seeing him, nothing more. Friends don’t behave like that.

For the first time in his life Olden asked himself: what are friends supposed to do to be considered “friends”?

It didn’t bring him very far. Typical suggestions like 'spend time together', 'support each other at any situation', 'talk about different stuff'. 'Help when needed'. Olden made a list and ticked everything that matched him. Well, almost everything, as his working day ended just a couple of list points before the end. He didn’t want to stay at his working place longer than necessary. First, there was nothing to do there, and second, Smith always urged him to fully use his spare time.

 _Roger Smith..._ What would count as spare time for him?

Alexander left this thought and hurried to the exit. On the stairs to X-Tech entrance, he stopped and squinted, watching the building across the street. He always did so when he hoped to meet Smith and head somewhere else with him. Today the scientist actually stood at the laboratory doors: he looked the usual except for his sweater having a different color. He eyed the ground and talked on the phone to someone; then he looked up, held his gaze upon Olden for several seconds and retreated into the building. Alexander sighed. The fifty-third day since _missis Smith incident_ was over.

He paced home in his usual melancholic state of mind. He thought about making rice for dinner and buying eggs tomorrow. Paying the bills for the Internet and his flat. Getting himself a pet that wouldn’t require much attention. Some aquarium fish, for example. But he stops himself every time saying that with his lifestyle even fish would make its way out of his house. Along with the aquarium.

But one can have a friend that won’t run away... _can’t one?_

Alexander Olden thought for the first time in his life about an ability to create a friend for himself on his own. He finished brushing his teeth, looked into the mirror and stared at his round half-dark black and white face. He examined the borders of light and dark skin, then suddenly brought himself a sheet of paper and drew a circle on it. Then he divided it in half, added two circles as eyes, a nose and an upset mouth. He chuckled quietly and filled in one half of the large circle.

“Looks alike”, he muttered, comparing the drawing with the mirror reflection. Then he remembered why he’d want to draw a simplified self-portrait: to give an avatar to his artificial friend. An idea of creating an artificial intelligence to accompany someone was not new, but Olden also wanted it to be self-developing over everything it receives from its creator. He had a similar idea for a long time already, but to create an AI friend – it was new.

All because of this Roger Smith.

Olden turned over the paper. On the other side, the 'enough for a friend' list took place. He sighed quietly and put the paper away. He’ll return to it the next day.

Closing his eyes, ready to fall into a peaceful state of mind, he remembers Smith’s gaze that he caught earlier this evening. The brightest thing to have happened today.

 

X

“Olden! You’re just in time, the director wants to see you. He said it’s something super important... Leave your stuff here, you’ll pick it up later! Hurry to his office now.”

The first and last time Alexander Olden saw his supervisor was his first day at work. He never got any scolding or credit for anything, so he was surprised about sudden attention to him. He took off his coat hastily, threw it at a chair with his bag and hurried to the chief’s office.

“Mister...”

“Ah, Alexander Olden! Come in, sit down here. Ii won't be long.”

Honestly, it was hard for Olden to tell if the director was the same. It didn’t interest him that much; what was more important – he forgot to put on the X-shaped tie pin this morning. But his boss didn’t seem to mind this. Sitting on a black leather chair, Alexander felt like a kid in the headmaster’s office.

“Relax, it’s all right”, the director smiled. “Our branch takes part in a scientific conference. And as we’ve got the lab across the street as our partners for many years”, and Olden totally didn’t know about that, “we’re going to make a performance with them. Everyone’s been there like thousands of times, so I decided to give you a try. What do you say?”

“I...” the programmer fought his introvert nature, “I’m sure flattered by this suggestion, but...”

“Great. Here are the materials for you. If you feel insecure, talk to miss Alyson, she visited the conference last year and she’ll tell you anything needed. But I think you’ll do just fine!” The director laughed and rose from his chair, making Olden feel even smaller. “Even more, the laboratory suggested your candidature. Can’t say I’m against their choice here!”

“Wait... they suggested me?” Alexander stood up too but wasn’t given a chance to say anything else – only a heavy folder of materials.

“Good luck to you, Olden. I believe in you. Oh, and don’t forget the tie pin. It’s our distinctive feature!”

With such words and a huge smile, the programmer was put away from the head office. He stood with an indefinite expression on his face, clutching the folder; around him, other office workers eyed him with endless curiosity in their eyes and waited for him to speak up.

“Conference matters”, Olden pressed out. It put peace into everyone at once, and they all left for their working places. He picked his stuff up from someone’s chair, careful not to drop the folder, and made his way towards his place.

The folder fell down on the table, and from the wind it created, a thin paper that was on Olden’s computer screen before landed on top of the materials. “Prepare for the conference. Good luck” was written on it in a neat handwriting. Alexander hemmed, fetched the tie pin out of his bag and placed it as straight as possible on his tie. Now he was completely adjusted to his surroundings and could think everything over.

A conference he takes part in with the lab scientists. A conference. Olden has never taken part in these events even in school, let alone university and adult years. How could he be recommended for this in the labs?..

 _Then_ it hit him. A while ago, he’d be happy for this realization; at the present time, his fists clenched on their own. The second employee to sit in this area flinched and turned around, hearing a loud thud at his colleague’s table. Olden shook his hand and gave out a sign that everything’s alright. The man returned to his business then.

The materials were outstandingly horrible. For Olden it seemed like it contained all latest achievements in computer-related field... ten years prior. The more he read it, the more he felt like sitting in a library. He didn’t actually ask about the topic of this conference... but the materials made him absolutely indifferent towards it. The programmer gained an immense wish to return to his boss, hand him this useless pile of crap and cross himself out of this whole fraud, even after being recommended.

He closed the folder and put a hand on top of it decidedly when a brilliant idea visited his mind.

Why cross himself out if he could talk on the topic he loved more than himself, namely artificial intelligence? Wasn’t he the one for almost a week developing a fully friendly AI to accompany a human being?

With all these remarkable thoughts Alexander Olden headed straight for his boss. To his surprise, the director was all positive about his suggestion, but his question about the conference topic was met with a shrug and a simple ‘is it that important?’. In any case, Olden was sent straight to making his own scientific report. At least he liked it. He was always good in gathering and presenting information, as his perfect university grades suggested. But studying was studying, and this time he needed to perform in front of a mass of people, all interested in his report. That’s why Olden was worried nevertheless. For his own decency.

The time allotted for his info gathering flied past him in a second. He didn’t even have a dinner that day: that’s how immersed he got in the process. In the end, his report was a lot less than the initial material pile and contained a lot more useful substance. The programmer was almost done with printing it when he was called away to meet the laboratory representative.

Standing in the elevator and watching the lights beside floor numbers, Alexander Olden reflected on whether he’d be right about the one who came after him. His guess was both optimistic and pessimistic, and he guessed correct.

He didn’t recognize his old acquaintance at first; this time he lacked a labcoat but was dressed in an extremely neat way. His sweater and jeans were changed to a dark-brown two-piece suit and a painfully white shirt. Such cleanliness looked off even for Olden. His friend? even got his always shaggy hair well-combed and gathered in a ponytail. He stood at the very entrance, eyeing his conference ward silently; as Olden reached his position, Smith straightened up and smiled very lightly with a corner of his mouth. It was hard to catch as he turned away the next second and headed for the exit and from there – to the labs across the street. It must’ve required silent following, so Alexander did.

Roger Smith only started talking inside the building, as Olden left his belongings in the wardrobe and the conference was still some time away.

“I hope you’re ready for your speech”, the scientist spoke as if all of sudden. His companion threw him a challenging look.

“Yes, I am ready. Do you hope for the worst?”

“No, why. I just want everything to go smooth. What did they choose for you?”

“They...”, he hesitated for a second, “they did nothing for me, I got my own reins of government.”

Smith looked back at him, puzzled.

“Wow. I asked them to pick you some material so that you wouldn’t have to bother.”

“Pick me some material? It’s all complete...” Alexander looked around and continued, whispering: “...complete outdated crap! Why would anyone present this at a conference?”

The scientist still watched him with puzzlement, but something changed to positive side in him.

“Did they tell you about the topic?” he asked gently.

“The topic... no, they didn’t. Why would anyone need a topic for a scientific achievements conference?”

Now Smith couldn’t hold himself and laughed heartily. Olden noted to himself bitterly that he used to laugh like this back when they still were friends... at least Olden thought they were.

“Our topic this year is ‘back to where we began’. We review our progress through the years passed. You must’ve been given the software part, and it’s changing so rapidly that...”

“Wait... ‘back to where we began’?”

Then Alexander Olden realized. That’s why he was given the materials old as a dinosaur. In any case, his supervisor didn’t mind him making his own report and wouldn’t fire him for such oversight...

“Olden. Olden! Get back to reality. What’s the topic of your report?”

“Ar... artificial intelligence.”

“Is it interesting?” The programmer glared at him. “Nothing personal! But the audience must be carried away with your speech and lose the realization that it’s got a different topic.”

“I... I think I can do jus-st ev-verything”, Olden answered, stuttering; he stuttered in moments when his head worked way too well and his talking skills couldn’t keep up, ‘lagging’ slightly. Roger Smith smiled with all his teeth and tapped his shoulder.

“It’s gonna be alright. Oh, by the way...”, he fished a folded paper out of his pocket, “read this, think it over in the break time and tell me about your decision after it all ends.”

He smiled one last time, out of courtesy, and disappeared among other scientists, all dressed like him. Olden hemmed and opened the ‘letter’; inside it, in a very official language, Smith invited him to a private meeting after the conference. In the letter it was called ‘additional discussion that our knowledge desiring minds can fully devote to in a serene environment’. Under serene environment he somehow implied the roof of laboratory building.

It was clear that Smith wanted to talk to him in a private, and the conference was just a cover. Alexander frowned, folded the paper several times and his it in a pocket. He had the time to think it over later; his report was in the first line, and he had to hurry.

 

XI

To Alexander Olden’s amazement, his report was an absolute bomb. No, he wasn’t only amazed, he was absolutely shocked: two hundred pairs of eyes were eyeing him for the whole speech, he saw interest and even excitement on the listeners’ faces, and it was quite possible that some of them became interested in AI even more than their scientific troubles. As soon as his report was over, they overwhelmed him with questions; he was able to answer most of them, and the rest were met with a desire to find out the answers in a more reliable source. The most reliable one, in his opinion, was the future.

Roger Smith was somewhere among the listeners all the time. Olden noticed him once but didn’t allow himself to be distracted on someone, instead imagining the whole hall of people to be a single contradictory and interested listener. When the Q&A section grew too long, Olden apologized awkwardly, asked everyone interested to hit him up after the conference and left in a hurry.

Smith’s report was somewhere after the programmer’s one, but he didn’t visit it. He thought he won’t be able to bear watching Smith so long after he was so desperately trying to forget him for already third month in a row. All to no avail. Olden really wanted to leave right after his own speech, even though he promised to answer the remaining questions from everyone. He suddenly felt completely irresponsible for all this, about their opinion on him; the euphoria from being well-received has left his mind. On the way to wardrobe he stopped, fetched the letter folded a million times, picked it open and read the contents again. Its readability was way worse this time, but the main thing was still there. After the conference. Rooftops. Private meeting. Conference discussion. Fat chance.

Olden crumpled the paper and tossed it into the closest trashcan. He spent some more time hugging his coat; the wardrobe worker asked him if he was alright and received no answer. After approximately fifteen minutes of thinking Alexander finally put on the coat, placed his bag comfortably over his shoulder and headed for the exit.

Right in front of the heavy wooden entrance doors, the elevators resided. Both were on the first floor and opened welcomingly right in front of Olden. He stood before them for a while too, first being surprised with the fact that they were open and then with everything being so suggestive to make the only right decision. Security guys at the entrance wanted to come over and ask what’s wrong, but at the end he stepped into the closest elevator and pressed the highest floor button.

The elevator was incredibly slow. It might’ve felt like it got stuck at one of the floors, but the floor number above the doors kept changing, and Alexander actually arrived at his destination point. From here, some wall-mounted pointers were used to navigate, and he used them to find the roof entrance. The people working here must’ve been adequate enough with no one willing to jump down from the rooftops if the roof entrance was open and easy to find, Olden thought.

The rooftop was a fairly large and dark place. Its size suggested having a helicopter landing ground, but no other signs but the size could prove that. Everyone who’d be on the roof was easy to notice with all the lights the city produced around; that’s exactly how Olden noticed a figure across the roof, sitting their back to him.

Of course, the man heard him coming and turned around. Alexander expected Roger Smith to be smoking here, but he wasn’t. He just sat on a concrete block and watched the surroundings before Olden’s arrival.

“So you came”, the scientist smiled and moved a bit to the side, giving Olden a place to sit. The latter shook his head.

“I won’t stay for long.”

“No you sit down. I didn’t get you here to talk about chemistry, it can be done in a different place.”

Smith’s tone was unbelievably serious; Olden has never heard him talk like this before. Some part of him wanted to leave before something irreparable happens, but he persuaded himself to stay. Obeying to his companion’s gesture, Alexander sat down on the cold concrete and put his bag next to it. The scientist nodded in approval.

“There. We are now in a place and time that no one will interrupt and will want to interrupt as well. I called you here to sort things out.”

Roger glanced at the man sitting next to him, smirked and continued:

“Lemme ask simple questions, and you choose an answer from two versions. Okay? Today is the sixty seventh day from the moment you met Nicole and left my lab. Tell me, is that her or my fault?”

“Your”, Olden answered barely audible, holding himself from ‘were you counting days too?!’.

“Aha. Welp... that means it’s all as I thought. I was reckless enough to drop a foolish sentence. That I have no friends.”

He looked at his companion again, more likely to calm himself and keep the contact. Olden took that as a question and nodded.

“Yes. Well, I didn’t lie back then – I really had no friends. No people to do science with along with something nice and lighthearted.”

Olden wanted to say something but kept himself silent. Smith must’ve had some other words to justify his behavior.

“You could ask me of course, ‘what about us’? About all we did together? I’d never call this a friendship...”

At this moment Alexander must’ve given out a very loud sound of dissatisfaction because the scientist moved closer to him and touched his hand with his own bandaged one. Olden flinched and put his hand away.

“...because it’s _way more_ than usual friendship.”

The programmer didn’t put his hand back but looked at his companion with a mixture of relief and surprise in his gaze.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to call this. But I don’t consider you my friend. You’re a lot more to me.”

“Then why didn’t you acknowledge this before?!” Alexander exploded, jumping up. “I tortured myself for two months because you couldn’t express your attitude towards me?”

“Frankly... yes.” Smith looked down in shame and shifted his gaze onto the bright and living city beneath, not far from them. An industrial anthill.

“Alexander. You can be upset for how long you want. I acted like a complete imbecile. I don’t know if you’ll believe me but... for these whole two months I’ve been considering the ways to get you out for a conversation and have no one around.”

“And that’s why you got me out for a conference? Ah no, excuse me – you’ve got my office section for it and recommended me to my boss”, Olden sat back down; he was less irritated already but his discontent was still showing. He was dissatisfied not with Roger’s actions but rather with lack of understanding the scheme.

“Well, yeah. You wouldn’t refuse. On the other hand you would...” Smith averted his gaze. “But I was lucky, and you were reasonable. Like I always thought you to be.”

The scientist fell silent, and it was unclear if he waited for an answer or was out of correct words. Olden had no idea what it was about, but he was afraid to say a word. So they sat in silence, watching the landscape from the nineteenth floor rooftops. It was very quiet and calm up here, just like Alexander’s stag flat; but his flat lacked the absolute silence, fresh breeze and Roger Smith.

Who finally decided to go on.

“I’ve never had friends, as a matter of fact. Normal ones, I mean. They all wanted to copy my homework or to bother me with questions about my physical appearance.” Olden thought that his situation was exactly the same. “I thought when I grow up I’ll find more stuff to discuss with people to become one of them. Nah. It’s all the same.”

Roger sighed wearily, considering whether he should tell the information on his mind.

“My report was about hangover curing. Added my own achievements at the end. Do you think they’d appreciate it?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but the programmer shrugged as the talking one was looking at him. “Damn right they did. They clapped modestly, but I know what they think about me. That I’m a waste among the scientific society. If you drink like me, you’re automatically not a human anymore. They care none about the inspiration I get from it. They care about nothing. I hope they eat shit one day.”

He fell silent again. Alexander Olden felt absolutely mixed. On one hand, he didn’t hope to ever find out such information; on the other hand, he didn’t know how to react. He’d never imagine his ingenious acquaintance to be so despised in his environment, to be unhappy and feel any negative emotions about his work. And Olden found no better solution than move closer to Smith and embrace him awkwardly with one hand. Roger glanced at him, speechless, then laughed and got out of the hug.

“Okay. We all go down the drain and need to sound off once in a while. Have I been a burden, my friend?”

 _“Friend?”_ Alexander squinted. “What do you mean by this?”

“Oh... yes, you can hold me to that now”, the scientist laughed. “Let’s do it this way. I’ve never had friends anyway. Can’t really compare to anything. Then why not call each other friends meaning... _what we mean?_ How’s the idea?”

Alexander Olden sighed probably the deepest this time for today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder when will it be appropriate to add the pairing tag to description
> 
> Also only after reading another time I've realized how ambiguous the 'friends but we mean what we mean' sentence was


	4. XII

XII

The first days of September greeted the city with raining and long-excepted cold snap. There were no signs of an Indian summer coming this year; everyone who had to go outside put on their coats and whined about the weather being so unbearably cruel.

One couldn’t tell Alexander Olden to like watching everyone around suffer from constant raining, but it did give him some sort of sadistic pleasure nevertheless. These days, he observed people wearing clothes all over their bodies and hiding from nature with maximum effort, and it brought him back into his previous years of covering his skin. Nature gave him well-deserved justice, in a way.

Although besides this specific feature the rain affected him soothingly. The programmer allowed himself to get rid of glasses that stopped giving him good vision long time ago; he could stare outside and just watch everything blend into a single grey color. Sunlight often hit his eyes and made everything blur into colorful splashes, but during the rain everything looked the same. Nothing to examine insistently. Nothing to worry over.

His friend, however, was downright disgusted with bad weather. Even cloudy days seemed to cut down Roger Smith’s working mood, as if a grain of sand got into his well-polished complex working mechanism. He kept complaining about this to Olden, especially as autumn came. But in the end it came out that the more Olden visited him in his spare time – which was always working time for Smith, - the less Roger mentioned the weather’s misfortunes to the point of forgetting about it completely. Olden hoped really hard that his presence provides distraction from surroundings; he didn’t dare call himself a ‘spare sun’ for his friend, but he certainly didn’t play the least role here.

This morning was washed over with such a prodigious downpour that even Alexander Olden admitted his defeat, wringing out his jacket at the entrance of X-Tech. Glancing at the window from time to time, he noted sadly that in this weather Smith would’ve hardly left his home. Then again... the labs often proved to be a better home for him. He might’ve had a camping bed somewhere behind the lockers. Even so, in this despicable weather, he’d surely spend the whole day lying on that camping bed and solving Sudoku puzzles.

However, at the end of working day mother Nature must’ve decided that the miserable humans had enough, and the sun came out; it was so powerful in its light that almost all water that poured down disappeared in the first half an hour. For Olden, it was a bit depressing, as he got used to see today as a grey day and his vision tried hard to adjust to sunlight; but some part of him was glad to have his scientific friend’s spirits lifted. He waited impatiently for the clock to finally reach 5 p.m.; he almost didn’t notice himself grabbing his crumpled jacket, flying past all defenses to stop him from leaving the building and enter the one across the road.

Alexander was right about the spirits: Roger Smith met him in a very good mood. All of Olden’s questions about having such a happy attitude were barely answered with “you’ll find out” and  “I’m always like that”. It all looked like one of his productive days, despite the fact he was sober that was usually an obstacle for his genius. In any case, Olden was glad and hoped their today’s several hours to pass as usual: heartwarming and interesting.

He enjoyed watching Smith working. When he was concentrated, dressed in chemical protective equipment, hidden behind a wall of glasses, flasks and everything else needed. Even behind protection glasses, his fiery gaze could be felt, full of curiosity and will to succeed. Even Olden, being mostly inert, was powered by him with an incredible energy, incomparable to anything else. Sometimes this energy was enough.

Enough for finally saying the only right thing.

He was pulled from thinking about it by Smith’s request to come and bring something edible to take a break. Alexander gladly agreed but was a bit surprised: they usually took a walk to find some food together. Well, seemed that the scientist was too busy this time to stop working. He understood him perfectly. The process of creating an artificial intelligence was also very absorbing for him, if not overcaptivating. He certainly succeeded in some things, and despite his electronic friend still being in alpha stage of developing, he was already proud of him, like a parent of his child.

Olden usually bought snacks in X-Tech food court, so he had to go outside for a minute. It started raining in the exact same moment he left the labs; the programmer had to run across the street. The food court was quite empty, but those who were still here chuckled and note to themselves how happy their usually neutral colleague is. Of course, they never asked about the reason.

To Alexander’s surprise, on his way back the lab elevators went offline. Well, his friend didn’t reside at the nineteenth floor, so he could as well walk on his own. At least some exercise after a day of sitting. Four floors were easy to cover, the others came slower. Closing in to the ninth floor, Olden contemplated what would Smith’s new invention be. Adrenaline replacement? A cream for faster nail growing? Invincibility mixture?..

He didn’t get to finish the thought. A deafening popping sound hit his ears, and he was practically imprinted into the stairwell walls; the impact was quite hard, and he lost consciousness for a couple of minutes, hitting his head on the concrete.

Going back was incredibly difficult. His head howled as if there was a bell tolling inside it, eating away every other sound source. Behind this howling, a faint rattling of fire alarm could be heard that was set off seemingly everywhere. It costed Alexander some serious effort to get up on his knees and then on his feet, then make his way further up on the eighth floor that he was mere meters away from. There was only a carcass left of the door as the glass all blew out and lay in some radius around the frame. As if from a blast wave, Olden thought and continued painfully, trying to hold his posture and keep himself conscious.

Next flight of stairs went through more hell: the tiles that covered the stairs before was all blasted away, and the further one went, the less one could see the tiles being at its place. Olden could only stare at the floor, walk and try not to fall down. Only when the flight was over and the floor looked completely destroyed, he looked up.

The ninth floor turned into a burning inferno. Everything around him looked so blurry and bright that Alexander didn’t realize at first if that was his brain concussion or he just lost his glasses. He touched his face and winced from pain, finding a piece of glass stuck in his cheek. He lacked the glasses though. He slowly grabbed the glass piece with two fingers and tried to pull it out. No good. His fingers were already covered in blood and slipped. He looked at the hellish atmosphere ahead; the fire extinguishing systems couldn’t handle the damage, and everything was slowly melting. Olden thought that because of fire alarm the elevators would be offline and he’d have to make his way back on foot... but then he remembered elevators being out of service before. How providently of fate it was...

Smith. Smith sent him away and this whole thing happened.

The programmer felt an overwhelming will to run into the burning laboratories, to push the melting piles of plastic aside; everything he could to prove himself that Smith survived. He was only away for fifteen minutes, how could something so... devastating happen?

He couldn’t think but he also couldn’t act. If he were to enter the floor, he’d be consumed by fire the next second and burn even sooner than everything in the room. He just stood there, watching the fire and collapsed ceiling. Eternity must’ve passed before people in rough firefighter clothes touched his shoulders, led him away from destroyed doorway; lifesavers took him down the stairs, away from the ninth floor disaster, put him into an ambulance on the street and covered him with a shock blanket; soon, a woman dressed in ambulance uniform returned to him for first aid and removed a piece of glass from his face. Olden was absolutely inert by that moment and didn’t register anything around. Only as some firefighters exited the labs, he asked one of them:

“Have you seen a man? Wearing a sweater and jeans...”

They didn’t answer, and it was unclear whether they didn’t understand him or there was no one to find anymore. The programmer couldn’t fully grasp the situation, and he was slowly drifting into sleep: perhaps that was the effect of medicine the ambulance woman injected. It was still raining outside, even heavier than before, and it at least somehow helped in containing the hellish fire on the ninth floor. The upper floors looked dangerously unstable; the whole street in front of the labs was filled with emergency cars and people that left on their own or were evacuated from the building. Someone from the scientists recognized Olden, approached him and started asking something, but he understood no words or gestures. At some point, his consciousness refused to keep him away anymore, and he dozed off, falling onto the one speaking to him.


End file.
